


Ceremonial Purposes

by EvilMuffins



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/F, Festivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: “You will forgive me, Princess, if the arrangement is not to your liking,” Laegjarn said, taking a knee, and with it, the Princess’s hand in her own. The fact that Fjorm did not wear gloves in this biting weather already spoke to her being the stronger between them.---Peace between the lands of Muspell and Nifl comes at long-last.





	Ceremonial Purposes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenoglossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoglossy/gifts).



“I understand, Father.” Laegjarn dipped her head in a solemn nod, rising to her feet.

It was no surprise, really. He had spoken of the possibility of the upcoming arrangement before, although Laegjarn hadn’t expected it to come to fruition so soon.

“He still wishes for you to go through with it?” Laevatein asked, crossing her arms with a scowl as her sister strode out into the hall.

“It would seem that the Princess Gunnthra has finally agreed to the arrangement,” Laegjarn explained.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow, at first light.”

“You do not wish to go?” Laevatein said, sensing the regret in her sister’s voice.

“I do not wish to leave you alone with Father,” Laegjarn replied bitterly. In truth, she nearly welcomed her new home in the land of ice. If it were not for her desire to keep safe her younger sister, Laegjarn might have succumb years ago to her rampant flights of fancy, all revolving around defecting from the Muspellian army, sometimes for the land of Askar, other times for realms unknown. Although, in all likelihood she would have lost her life in the process, no matter the place she chose. “Sleep well, dear sister.” She rested a hand on Laevatein’s shoulder. “I will bid you farewell come morning.”

 

The cross-country carriage ride the following morning was uneventful at best, and out-right maddening at worst. At the very least, the Order of Heroes hadn’t shown up to impede the journey. While she admired their resolve, she did not wish to draw her sword on the eve of her wedding.

On the road from dawn until dusk, Laegjarn’s thoughts soon strayed from those of wishing that her less than conversationally gifted sister were there to keep her company, to idle musings on her bride-to-be, and eyes the color of the ice outside.

* * *

 

“I understand, Sister.” Fjorm smiled gently, placing a reassuring hand on Gunnthra’s shoulder. “Please, it’ll be alright.”

Gunnthra dabbed at her eyes before trying her best to return her sister’s expression. “I’m so sorry once again, Fjorm, but I know that you’re strong. Although I still wish there were another way to bring us peace, I hear that the eldest princess of Muspell is far kinder than her father. It’s difficult to imagine your charm not winning her over in the end.”

“Sister!” Fjorm giggled, in spite of herself, giving Gunnthra’s shoulder a playful tap instead. If she had had any dreams involving the Muspellian princess, Gunnthra did not divulge them to her younger sister.

As Fjorm emerged from the throne room, she caught sight of Hrid hand-in-hand with Ylgr, leading her away toward the courtyard.

 

An evening later, a black carriage pulled up the drive, and Fjorm felt as if the breath had been stolen from her very lungs, the cold evening air the least likely culprit in attendance.

Skin glowing warm and golden, hair the color of Springtime in faraway lands- the striking figured that emerged from was one that Fjorm would recognize anywhere.

“It’s you!” she gasped, delicate hand flying to cover her mouth.

Laegjarn’s heart nearly sank for a moment. Had the princess been expecting Laevatien instead? She couldn’t place blame on Fjorm if that were the case. Laevatien was of course the more petite of the two, and although the scars of war had refused the young warrior any mercy as well, youth had allowed her to wear them with considerably more grace.

Immediately, however, Laegjarn inwardly chastised herself. Countless times, she had faced down the business end of blade and pike, only to be wounded by a single sound from the lips of a pretty princess?

“You will forgive me, Princess, if the arrangement is not to your liking,” Laegjarn said, taking a knee, and with it, the Princess’s hand in her own. The fact that Fjorm did not wear gloves in this biting weather already spoke to her being the stronger between them.

“Oh, no! Nothing like-“ Fjorm paused as Laegjarn’s lips brushed her hand, and Laegjarn faltered again. Was the greeting frowned upon  in her country, even between those betrothed? However the soft flush blossoming in Fjorm’s cheeks set her more at ease. “Nothing like that, I assure you! It’s just… whenever I saw you on my visits to the region, I thought you were one of the generals!”

“It is possible for one to be both,” Laegjarn pointed out as she stood. “It is true that my father left me in charge of the conquered portion of Nifl. I remember you too, Princess, from my meetings with your brother.”

“Just ‘Fjorm’ is fine, Laegjarn.” Fjorm smiled warmly.

“Where is the rest of your family, if I might ask?” Fjorm had greeted her with no more than a pair of silent guards in tow outside of the manor that the Nifl royal family sometimes used while staying in the area that fell under Laegjarn's jurisdiction.

“They’ll be joining us tomorrow, for the festival, and then the day after for the ceremony,” Fjorm explained.

“ _Festival-_ ? _”_ Laegjarn sputtered, aghast.

_Ceremony!?_

Fjorm frowned. “Will that be a problem for you?”

“Forgive me, Princess Fjorm, however I had assumed that I was merely going to sign some paperwork, and our, um, ‘arrangement’ would be cemented.” Laegjarn rubbed at her upper arm, eyes on Fjorm’s footprints in the snow. Two of the smaller woman’s would likely equal only one of her own.…

“If it makes you feel any better,” Fjorm explained, “The festival is more in honor of the new year than it is of our… union. The two just just happen to coincide. Serendipity, isn't it?”

“Is that so?” Laegjarn coughed into her fist.

“Would you like to come inside?” Fjorm asked, reigning in a giggle. “It seems silly to stand outside in the cold like this. Muspell is always so warm, you must be frozen by now!”

“I’d like to think I’m a little bit tougher than that,” Laegjarn snorted softly, warm breath creating a steam that failed to hide the smile playing at the corners of her lips.

In truth, despite the fact that the cold had settled in deep beneath her armor, something deep within the Muspellian general’s chest had never felt so warm.

...That is, until she laid eyes upon Fjorm again the next morning.

“Is there a spot on my kimono?” Fjorm asked, lifting her hem in order to make sure she hadn’t dirtied it, despite the fact that they hadn’t yet left the manor.

“Forgive me for staring,” Laegjarn said, feeling the heat rising in her face. “It’s just that, back in Muspell, clothing solely as a form of self-expression would be unthinkable. Functionality on the battlefield is of the utmost importance.”

Fjorm nodded, understanding. “But now that our countries are entering into a new era of peace, hopefully there will be little need for combat at the festival.”

“Yet you still carry a bow,” Laegjarn noted.

“Strictly ceremonial,” Fjorm promised. “Truth be told, I favor the lance, if strife ever did arise… But that’s enough talk of such things. I have to say that I am glad to hear that you like the kimono, because my younger sister picked out one for you as well!”

Being dressed by a maid would taking some getting used to on Laegjarn’s part. Back in Muspell, her father looked upon accepting any sort of help--paid or not--to be a preposterous display of weakness.

Once the obi was tied and the final details set into place, Laegjarn examined herself in the mirror. She was glad that the maids had allowed her to keep her headpiece; despite the fact that she would become a royal princess of Nifl in a day’s time, Laegjarn was not yet ready to lose the weight of Muspell upon her head.

“You look positively radiant!” Fjorm exclaimed, clasping Laegjarn’s hand in delight. “Although I suppose that’s to be expected from a woman hailing from the land of fire.”

The joke had been dismal, pathetic. It hadn't even made sense.

Laegjarn laughed the loudest she ever had in her life.

* * *

 

“You look as if you’re walking in a dream,” Fjorm observed, watching bemused as Laegjarn took in the sights, eyes as wide with wonder as Ylgr’s had been on the morning of the Winter holiday the previous week.

“Something like this would have been unthinkable back in Muspell,” Laegjarn said, gesturing at the rows of booths and vendors, cheerful faces chatting together while lining up for their tempting goods. “Merry-making like this would be inconceivable under my father’s rule. Even the fact that we are to have a wedding tomorrow… Forgive me, Princess Fjorm, but this all feels like something out of the storybooks I would hide under my mattress as a girl-”

As Laegjarn spoke, a group of small children came hurtling toward them. Hand darting outward, Fjorm was only able to pull Laegjarn to safety with seconds to spare before the rowdy herd made their way through for the sweets stand.

“Perhaps we should hold hands so I don’t lose you in the crowd,” Fjorm suggested, despite the fact that Laegjarn blending in in Nifl was about as likely to occur as the two of them suddenly being summoned into an alternate dimension where peace between the lands had never been achieved...

 

 


End file.
